


Beyond The Borderlands

by Rudie_Jazz (Rudester_Rudie)



Category: Final Prayer (2013), The Borderlands (2013), The Borderlands (Movie)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rudester_Rudie/pseuds/Rudie_Jazz
Summary: It is by God's Grace (Presumably) that Gray and Deacon survived the horror that lay beneath the church. Both worse for wear they embark on an adventure, trying to make it as supernatural investigators. They'll meet unsavoury characters, supernatural forces but the thing that matters the most is that they'll have each other's back through all of it.
Relationships: To Be Decided
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Episode 1: Shat out of Hell Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This Fanfiction is a massive labour of love and the brainchild of a random autist too invested in the story of Gray and Deacon. Updates are slow, I'm already warning. Please be patient. Thank you to Elliot Goldner and The Borderlands crew for creating this lovely movie.

Beyond The Borderlands

Episode 1: Shat out of Hell Pt 1

It was six o’clock in the morning and the world seemed like it was stirring awake from a deep sleep. The wind was shaking the leaves and the birds greeted the new day with their loud chirping. Another being was finally waking up from a long slumber alongside them. Deacon opened his eyes. The unfamiliar feeling of a cool breeze and soft grass taking him out of a trance he had been in for god knows how long. As the feeling returned to his body, his vision became less blurred. Deacon looked next to him and noticed someone else lying there, still breathing.

“Gray-?” He said, his voice sounding hoarse from lack of use. The more his body woke up, the more Deacon noticed what state he was in. His mouth felt dry, his stomach hurt beyond belief, and there was a dull and throbbing pain in his head “Hey, come on, wake up.” Deacon croaked, nudging the unconscious Gray, but let it be when he realised this wouldn’t do anything. “Great.” The ‘great’ was delivered stoic and to no one in particular. Deacon knelt to get a proper grip on the other, one arm under his back to prop him up, the other under his knee.

“How are you still asleep, anyway?” Deacon questioned, before realising that he won’t get an answer. Groaning, he stood up, the unconscious or sleeping Gray safe in his arms. Now he had to get his bearings. What was the last thing he remembered?

_**Screaming.** _  
_**The smell and painful sensation of searing flesh.** _  
_**Desperate prayers, Gray reaching out to him-** _

Deacon inhaled deep, then let out a sharp exhale. Better not to think about it, he was already feeling shaken again. He looked at Gray in his arms and smiled a bit, “glad you’re here too.” At least he wouldn’t have to be alone. Now where to was the question. He could tell that there was nothing but forest surrounding them. Whenever he tried to listen for signs of civilisation, there was nothing. Only the rustling from above and Gray’s breathing.

“Right. I’m going to go straight ahead and see where I end up. What do you think?”

It’s not like he was expecting an answer, but he figured if he’d talk to him, Gray would wake up. There was a bit of sudden movement, it was Gray holding on to him, “good, we’re getting somewhere.” Deacon continued walking, taking in the odd but peaceful silence of the forest. The cold morning mist and the occasional soft breeze felt soothing on his face. Even if it wasn’t the best substitute for coffee. Gray was stirring a bit from time to time. He seemed restless.

“You’re fine, don’t worry.” Deacon muttered, “you’re with me.”

A hint of a smile appeared on the sleeping man’s face, and Deacon felt relieved.

“There you go.”

A fine drizzle of rain broke through the ceiling of trees. He must be getting out of the forest, and soon enough he found himself on a grassy field by a road. He put Gray on the ground again, resting Gray's head on his lap. After giving it some thought, Deacon took off his jacket and covered him with it as a makeshift blanket. He stared out on to the open road. Nothing was out here, not even the odd truck passing by. Gray was getting restless again, Deacon tried to comfort him by stroking his hair.

“Mh-“

Deacon looked to Gray, who was now waking up. He groaned then his eyes fluttered open, “oh, fucking hell!" Gray announced.

“Good to see you’ve arrived on earth.” Deacon chuckled and started plucking out blades of grass to keep his hands busy. “Had to carry you all the way here.”

“Shit.” Gray sat up, shook off Deacon's jacket, took off his glasses and rubbed his face “Fucking hell.”

“Do you still need some time?”

“God damn it.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They sat quietly together. Gray, with his face buried in his hands, broke the ice “Deacon? What happened?” He asked, sounding a bit muffled.

Burns, it burned so much, hard to breathe, hard to move, no escape.

“You don’t remember?” he inquired, trying to be as cautious as possible.

_**YOUSAIDITWASNTREALYOUSAIDITWASNTREALYOUSAIDITWASNTREALYOU-** _

Gray’s eyes widened, and his whole body seemed to tense up. So, he remembered now too.

Deacon put an arm around him and pulled him closer, hoping this would give him some comfort, “but it’s over now, we’re out here.” He looked around and sighed, “somehow.” Both of them looked at the road.

“You prayed in there,” Gray noted, leaning closer to Deacon.

“Who knows, maybe God’s grace saved us.”

“God’s Grace.” Gray parroted, before falling silent again.

“But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved…” Deacon quoted, then looked at his friend again.

Awkward silence. Gray glared at him, “I’m not in the mood for that.”

“Sorry.”

More uneasy silence, the roads were empty still. Not knowing what to do next, Deacon picked up his jacket and put it around the other. Gray muttered a ‘thank you’ and then closed his eyes. Things felt strangely peaceful for a bit. The silent forest behind them and a long stretch of empty road before them. Everything else felt like a nightmare. But the question remained: What now? The sun wasn’t even up yet. Gray still seemed so shaken by what happened, he stared at the ground, his eyes seeming empty and glazed over.

Deacon had to break the ice before the other got lost in thoughts again, “did you sleep well?”

“I don’t even know if I was sleeping. I thought I had died.”

“You haven’t.”

Gray scoffed, “had a weird dream that you were carrying me around. Imagine that.”

“Yeah, imagine that.” Deacon chuckled nervously. It was better if he didn’t tell him, it would save him the embarrassment and then mockery. The distant sound of a car finally broke the silence. They immediately jumped up. Deacon lifted his hand and signalled the driver to stop with a thumbs up.

“Wait, do you think hitchhiking is a good idea?” Gray questioned, and Deacon sighed.

“If you want to walk, you can be my guest.” He responded.

Gray seemed to be in thought then announced, “fair enough!”

Soon enough the driver stopped and rolled the window down.

“Cheers, lads!” He announced, “where to?”

Gray and Deacon got near to the car, with Deacon taking on the role of the speaker. “To the nearest village, town or whatever. Somewhere with people.”

“Right, come on in!”

Deacon opened the back door of the car. Gray looked around, still a bit apprehensive but finally followed him in. Gray was holding Deacon’s arm and kept on looking around until he decided on shoegazing.

“You lads had a wild night, huh?” The driver asked, looking at them through the front view mirror.

Deacon nodded, “you can say that again.” He patted his friend’s arm “we woke up in the middle of the woods.”

The driver let out a hearty laugh, “shit, how much did you drink?”

“No idea.” Deacon’s focus went to Gray, who didn’t seem well at all. He was holding on tighter now, his gaze fixated ahead, his breathing short and shallow. What the hell was going on? ‘Shit. It’s a panic attack!’ he thought, immediately trying to think of a way to calm him down. The driver was ranting about 'the dangers of partying' and that 'anyone in their right mind should get an early night.' But Deacon didn’t care. He had to take care of his friend.

Gray was trembling and looking right at him. He felt like he had to say something, anything.

“Are you okay?” Deacon muttered under his breath, “breathe in alright? Deep breaths.”

“D-deep, deep breaths?“ Gray repeated barely audible.

He nodded in response, “yes, follow my lead.” Deacon demonstrated: deep breathing, filling his chest with oxygen and then exhaling slow.

“What’s going on back there?” The driver inquired a little confused.

“Nothing, last night’s still on his mind, you know how that is.” He explained, still holding Gray’s hand, reassuring him that he was still here and that he wouldn’t go away. They drove on, Deacon and the driver keeping up small talk. Things were going well until Gray panicked, gripping the other’s hand tighter and staring at him with an expression of distress.

“You can let us out here now.”

The Driver stopped and looked at them confused, “are you sure? The nearest village is about 10 minutes away.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We can make the rest on foot.” He reassured the other, “fresh air should help us with the hangover.”

The driver shrugged, “suit yourselves, lads! Good luck on your journey home.” And he laughed. Deacon helped Gray get out of the car. He could hear the other breathe out in relief. There was a moment of silence; the only sounds coming from the distant chirping of birds.

“Sorry.” Gray finally said, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Gray it’s-“

“I felt caged in and I, I don’t know.”

Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose, “don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t looking forward to walking, but he didn’t want to put the other through whatever happened. In a way, he understood why, after what happened, he was bound to be wary of enclosed spaces-

_**IT STINKS IN HERE** _

Deacon still remembered how Gray had reacted, the utter helplessness-

_**IT’S MOVING! DEACON IT’S MOVING!** _

“I’m with you, alright?”

The other seemed more reserved now, that’s something Deacon noticed. Fun-loving, bantering Gray seemed so quiet and lost in thoughts.

He shrugged, only being half present, “let’s keep going.”

“Good idea.”

A lot of thoughts were racing through his mind by now. Where would they sleep, did they have enough money to buy something to eat? He already knew he had to call the congregation and explain what had happened. Then what would happen to Gray? It seemed like one of those bridges he had to cross when they got there. He wanted to say something encouraging, something like, ‘at least we’re alive’. But Gray didn’t seem present enough to hear him. He didn’t seem to be here at all now.

And somewhere far away, a car was driving, inching closer to them.

A stranger drove alone on the empty and dusty road. Her pale face seemed to be a constant expression of dismay; most of it hidden behind big sunglasses. Her red lips always pursed in what appeared to be a mockery of anything and anyone. She hasn’t had a coffee yet despite a five-hour drive. She was on the lookout for some random people. Why did she always get those jobs thrown at her? Her mobile vibrated and the last thing she wanted to do was pick up. If she ignored another call though, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Yeah?” The stranger spoke with a soft and yet agitated voice; her tone seemed as dismayed as her expression, “what?”

She paused for the answer.

“Look, it’s not an easy fucking thing to do. Rome wasn’t built in a day, either, was it?”

The woman paused again, brushing long strands of blonde hair out her face.

“Oh yeah, not that hard looking for two random guys that by all accounts are dead. Whatever you say.”

Another pause. She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses.

“Sure, sure. I’m trying my best.” And she hung up, “cunts.” The woman lit herself a cigarette, a Lucky Strike, and smiled a little bit when she felt the nicotine enter her system. It’s no coffee, but it’s something. “Alright, Gray and Deacon. Can’t wait to meet you, two handsome lads.”

During their walk, no one had said anything, and the silence didn’t feel right. Deacon kept looking over to Gray, and Gray kept avoiding his gaze.

“Hey,” Gray spoke out of the blue, causing Deacon to snap out of his thoughts, “you know, I’m in the mood for a pint. Got any change in your pocket?”

“Maybe God was nice enough to save it as well.” Deacon joked, hoping he’d get at least a smile out of the younger guy. Gray still didn’t react, he kept looking ahead with that forlorn expression on his face. He wasn’t up for jokes then. Best to let it be. Deacon searched his pockets and did find some money, wasn’t a lot but enough to keep them from starving to death. Then he stopped in his tracks. The two had arrived at something that looked like an abandoned cottage. The windows were boarded up. The outer walls defaced with graffiti spelling out derogatory slogans. But that wasn’t what had caused Deacon to stop so abruptly.

It's the fact that he recognised the building.

It was the same building he and Gray had stayed in alongside Mark. The building they had met for the first time before they-

_**OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN** _

Before it all went to hell.

_**HALLOWED BE THY NAME** _

And suddenly he couldn’t help but feel ill. He looked over to Gray who didn’t seem to be realising what was going on. He was still in this strange distant state, trying to separate himself from the world. For now, Deacon would let him stay wherever he was. He stepped closer, running his thumb over the door. The door frame had something carved in ‘The accursed cottage’ it said. The buildings around it seemed abandoned too.

Deacon shook his head; god damn superstitions didn’t seem to go away-

Gray stood next to him now, almost in a trance.

“This is it.” Deacon said, trying to coax another word out of him, but his friend remained silent. “Should we go inside? It may be a stretch, but if we're lucky it’s somewhat habitable.”

Gray frowned a bit concerned.

“At least until we have this whole thing sorted.”

Gray sighed and seemed more relaxed now. Deacon tried to open the door, and while it didn’t appear locked, it certainly was jammed. Shoulder barging the door it was! Though he felt bad seeing how each loud thumping sound caused Gray to flinch a bit. “Hey, it’s just me.” He reassured him and continued with a slow and steady rhythm, to not startle the other any further until the door finally gave in and opened.

“Open Sesame.” Deacon announced, trying once again to get Gray to laugh. Still nothing, shit, he was almost catatonic by now. Putting an arm around Gray’s shoulders, he guided the younger man into the cottage and Deacon felt an immediate chill. Everything was still in its place. Deacon could see the suitcases Mark had packed when he decided the investigation was over, the empty beer bottles on the table from their nights of drinking, and dishes in the kitchen sink they didn't get to wash. The only thing that had changed was the thin layer of dust on everything, and the flies ravishing the leftover food. It was as if they had only left one week ago. Deacon led Gray to the armchair and after dusting it off, sat him down.

“Gray, can you hear me?” Deacon asked, crouching down, so he wasn’t towering above him.

“You said it wasn’t real.”

Deacon took his hand, “I know.”

And that was when Gray fell back into himself, glossy eyes and pensive expression. Deacon noticed exhaustion creeping upon himself. Unconsciousness wasn’t the best substitute for real sleep. He could go for a nap.

“You tired, Gray?” Deacon asked and got a half-hearted shrug as a reply. “I’m gonna have a lie-down, what about you?” A half-hearted nod was the answer this time. “Alright, come on then.” Deacon tried his best to be encouraging, but Gray didn’t move. It was best to leave him there, for now, Deacon himself lied down on the couch. “I’ve been thinking you know, once this is over, I’m going on vacation, He said, “Vienna seems like a lovely place. Or Thailand, I could learn some more about Buddhism. If you have nothing else planned-“ Deacon paused and looked at Gray who had slumped over and fallen asleep on the armchair.

“Never mind then.” He closed his eyes and finally let a deep, dreamless sleep take him over.

It was getting dark out when Deacon was woken up by loud screaming and crying. He immediately knew what was happening. He almost fell off the couch, then crouched down in front of the other again, putting his hands on Gray’s knees.

“Gray, it’s fine, I’m here.” Deacon said with a soft voice. It was difficult watching his friend like that. Shaking with terror, his eyes wide open, drenched in sweat. “Remember what I told you, okay?”

“Breathe-“ Gray mumbled, his chest heaving, his breathing fast and shallow.

So Deacon did the same thing he did in the car, breathing in deeply through the mouth, exhaling slowly through the nose. Gray followed his lead. After a while, Gray seemed to have calmed down.

“Soz.” Gray sighed, “I hope that was the last time.”

“Don’t apologise.” Deacon sighed as well.

Gray shifted in the seat a bit, “you’re dealing with this much better than me, fucking hell.”

Deacon didn’t know what to say. Instead, he stood up and offered the other his hand. “Come on, didn’t you want a pint? Our wallets are still here somewhere. I hope.”

“Sounds good.” Gray got up, putting on his best grin. Deacon could tell by the way he was fidgeting with his sleeves that he was still shaken.

“Great, it’s on me.”

With that, the duo searched the cottage for their wallets, luckily finding them. Just as Deacon expected everything they had left behind was still here. Not even potential looters wanted to set foot here. “We should be in disguise or something.” Gray suggested, “I'd rather not get recognised.”

“Depends on how long we’ve been gone.” How long have they been gone? Well, they’d find out soon enough. After putting on outfits that would hopefully disguise them, Deacon looked at Gray who had the hood of a dark hoodie pulled over his head.

“What do you think?” He asked.

Deacon sighed, “that’s going to make you seem more suspicious. You look like you’re in the mood for a fight.”

Gray took off the hoodie, “suppose you’re right.” He mumbled and finally settled on something plain, something that wouldn’t stand out. A pullover and some jeans. Deacon went for something similar, adding a heavy jacket to it. Then he grabbed their mobiles and chargers.

“I hope they’ve got electrical outlets in the pub.”

They left the cottage and stepped into the cold evening.

Walking through the village was strange. It seemed like nothing had changed at all. As if the whole place had been frozen in time, waiting for them. It didn’t ease Deacon’s nerves. If so little had changed, these people would recognise them. They walked in silence. Trying their best not to attract attention. Avoiding the gazes of others. Still, at this hour people were too preoccupied with themselves. They were thinking about their dinner, families, their jobs. Worrying about ordinary things.

The only people paying notice to the two were some hoodie-wearing teens. Deacon studied them a bit, wondering if one of these was the kid he had punched. It would have been the one amusing thing tonight. At least they could get something to drink soon. They had almost reached their destination when Gray stopped in his tracks.

Deacon gave him a confused look.

“I’m a bit worried. Think we’ll get thrown out again?”

Deacon shrugged in response, “even if they recognised us, they’d be surprised we’re not dead. Now come on, I need a drink.” Desperately. The dull pain in his head from this morning wasn’t going away, his body was expecting alcohol at this point. Gray still seemed a bit apprehensive, looking around uncomfortable.

“Think you can go on your own?” Gray asked.

“I’m not going to leave you by yourself, mate.” Deacon patted his shoulder, “okay? You just came out of some weird state.”

“Yeah but-“

“Can’t have you wandering off and hurting yourself. Now come on.” He found it embarrassing going back in there. All that left him when he smelled the familiar and comforting scent of drunkenness, cheap peanuts, and even cheaper alcohol. He asked the bartender if there was a place to charge their mobiles and the two got to sit near two sockets, one less thing they had to fuss over. Drinks were ordered, and once Deacon felt the alcohol in his system all was right with the world again. He ordered a second drink and after he downed drink two, he ordered his third. Gray was still nursing a whiskey and coke.

“Come on, take it easy,” Gray muttered into his glass, sounding like he didn’t even want to be heard by Deacon.

Deacon rolled his eyes, “I need to unwind, okay?” But he did slow down a little, drinking in sips instead of taking it all in one shot. That seemed to make Gray happy. They both sat quietly with their respective drinks in hand. Deacon ordered his fourth glass of whatever they had once he downed glass three. Gray looked at him concerned, Deacon ignored him. But there was a point when the silence between them became unbearable. Things left unsaid that should be addressed were floating around them like dust particles in an old room. People were passing them by. The pub was getting more lively. Happy people drinking after a hard day's work. Deacon felt even more out of place.

Finally, Gray spoke after he had finished his drink. Maybe it was the alcohol that had loosened his tongue a little. “So. What’s next?” He asked. “I thought we could travel around together. Like fugitives. We should go to Spain.” He tapped his glass. A little smile appeared back on his face, the first smile Deacon had seen so far. “I could buy a harmonica.”

Deacon didn’t answer, he drank instead.

What should he tell him? Deacon knew this wasn’t going to happen. Most likely he would ring up the congregation, and they’d get things in order and then go their separate ways. The thought of having to part with Gray didn’t sit right with Deacon. After everything they went through, he couldn’t abandon him. He drank faster, trying his best to wash away the looming thoughts. He wanted to enjoy their time together before the inevitable goodbye.

“Sounds like fun.” Deacon ordered his fifth glass, ignoring another concerned look. “Can you even play the harmonica?”

Gray shook his head, “not one tone.”

Both chuckled a bit, and for those few seconds, everything felt normal, as if nothing had happened. Suddenly everything felt bittersweet after Deacon remembered that it did happen.

_**YOU SAID IT WASN’T REAL** _

He felt the need to apologise to Gray for lying. He had promised him that everything would be fine, that this wasn’t real. But it was too late for that, nothing was fine. Deacon ordered drink number six.

“Deacon come on-” Gray pleaded, but the pleading went ignored.

“I’m Scottish. I can drink my weight in alcohol.”

“I think you’re mixing metaphors.” He sounded upset.

“You know exactly what I meant.”

Time passed, each silent second seeming to stretch into eternity. Deacon was now a pleasant level of drunk. His mind felt screwed on again. The world was sorted out for him. He didn’t even notice that Gray had gone very quiet and wasn’t drinking anymore. Deacon ordered another drink. At this point, Gray stood up, not even glancing at him. “Look, mate, I need to get out if that’s alright with you,” he explained through gritted teeth and he waited for an answer.

Deacon shrugged, his mind too foggy to think about Gray’s intention and what was running through his head, “sure. I’ll pay for your drinks once I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t grateful, it was bitter and cynical, but Deacon didn’t notice.

It was dead quiet, the unpleasant silence was on the road and hung over Gray like a led filled blanket. No one was here except him. He was surrounded by undergrowth and weeds. This path hadn’t been walked on in ages he figured, of course, why would they go anywhere near here? The stink of methane gas still hung in the air. The fields were still empty. The only significant difference was the increase of plant life, though most of it was dying. The thicket was wilting, and the trees bare without any leaves. It had gotten colder, the freezing wind biting into Gray’s face, but he didn’t care. He fought his way through it all until he had reached his destination.

The old building still stood there. That godforsaken church seemed to stretch infinitely into the darkened sky as if it was a massive tower. Another wave of memories hit Gray. Nausea overcame him. Every single survival instinct in his body seemed to go off, telling him to turn around and leave. But Gray marched on until he arrived at the gate. The truck they had used was still here. It looked beaten up; the seats sliced open, most likely by the local youths. That was all the evidence of human interaction with it. It had become a permanent fixture here. A reminder of the investigation team that had mysteriously vanished. Gray ran his hands over the grimy surface of the bonnet, then looked at the dirt on them.

Maybe no one here cared what had happened to them. For all he knew, they were happy.

The gate had a new detail as well: It was welded shut and a sign that read ‘KEEP OUT’ had been affixed to it. He could imagine why. Gray climbed over the gate and went uphill, fighting his way through the tall dewy grass. The closer he came to the old church, the smaller Gray felt until he was afraid its presence would drown him out completely. But he kept going. The wind was picking up, and strong gales formed like a force trying to push him away. He should turn around.

He stood in front of the church door, hearing the blood rushing in his ears.

Deacon sat on the armchair in the cottage, having found his way back, staring at his mobile. Maybe he was drunk, and the numbers weren’t making sense to him. March 2014. So they had been gone for almost a year. That would be an awkward conversation with the congregation. What should he even say?

‘Yeah we kinda died, but we’re better now don’t worry.’ No. Too nonchalant.

‘Surprise! Guess who it is!’ Too informal.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck. If there was no way he could make this easy on him or them, then it was best to get this over with.

“Good evening, I’m sorry about calling this late again. It’s me, Deacon Trombel.” He said much more awkward than intended.

There was stunned silence at the other end.

“I know, it’s weird to hear me, but Gray Parker and I somehow survived. I want to request a pick up for us.” He continued.

This was the part that Deacon had predicted, but it still made his stomach sink. They told him that they could come to pick him up, but not Gray because he wasn’t part of the congregation anymore.

“I know, but look, he was just as important as everyone else on the team.” He was reluctant to add ‘and I don’t want to leave him behind’. They would accuse him of being biased or something.

“Are you sure there’s no way to help him out? Maybe housing? Therapy? Anything, something! He’s just as hurt and scared as me.” He made one last appeal to their humanity.

Their answer was wordy and complicated, but he could decode it fairly quick: ‘No. Sorry.’

“I understand.” He almost added ‘You cunts,’ but stopped himself.

They were going to send their people in the next few days to get him and take him back to the Vatican. There everything else would be decided. Oh, and they were oh so sorry about not being able to do anything for Mr Parker. Deacon held a wave of anger back. He wanted to tell them about how Christians were supposed to take on the meek and those who needed help.

But once again, he didn’t.

Deacon hung up and walked over to the kitchen. He searched until he found an unopened bottle of red wine that had been left here by them months ago. He drank until he fell asleep.

The door was open. All Gray had to do was give it a soft push, and it moved with a creaking sound that made him flinch. The entrance looked like the open maw of a creature, and he hated his mind for making this connection. Christ, why was he even here to begin with?

Inside, everything was still in a state of disarray. The lamps were still on the ground, and little shards from them scattered all over the place. Even the symbol Calvino had drawn was still on the ground. Gray stood in the middle of the church, feeling ill. Everything washed over him. The awful memories closed in fast. He could almost feel the horrible pain again. The panic and the screaming. The disgusting fleshy walls moving around them-

[I know why you’re here my Son.]

The voice came out of nowhere.

[You never asked to be saved.]

“Shut up-” Gray muttered.

[A part of you stayed with me down here.]

“Leave me alone.”

[You want that innocent part of you back.]

Gray sat on the floor, covering his ears, trying to shut whatever this voice was out.

[You have seen too many things. Everything stopped making sense, you know what goes bump in the night Gray. How could you return to a normal life?]

He couldn’t drown it out, and his hands sank right into the broken glass. The sudden stinging pain jolted him out of his numb state. He stared at his bloodied palms, and for a second, he recalled how his hands looked eaten away and gored by the acid.

[I can give it back to you, Gray.]

Gray tried to clean the blood on his jeans but felt like he was only making a bigger mess.

[Come back to me. I can make it all end.]

He felt a breeze brush past his face as if a hand was leading him to the entrance of the cave system. Even in the faint light of the moon shining in, he could find the door. He felt like he was being called upon. He should be dead anyway. He was meant to die down there. If Deacon-

Deacon.

“Fucking hell, what am I doing?” Gray said to himself and then let out a nervous laugh, “I need to get back to the cottage before I do something stupid.” He stepped back, his eyes still trained on the door that would lead to the staircase.

[He’s going to abandon you.]

Gray buried his hands in the pocket of his trousers, trying to ignore the voices.

[Do you believe he cares about you?]

He exited the church trying his best not to throw up. That voice, it sounded like Father Calvino talking to him. It couldn’t have been him though. Calvino was dead, so was Mark, and it was all their fault.

When Gray returned to the cottage, Deacon was passed out on the armchair. There was this strange feeling of disappointment in the pit of his stomach but he tried to ignore it. Gray knew him, he liked a sip of the communal wine.

“I’ve been at the church.” Gray said to the passed out man, “I don’t know why. Guess I’m a bit lonely.”

The other didn’t answer.

“You wouldn’t abandon me, right? I mean we’re in this together.”

Deacon snored as an answer.

Gray suddenly felt exhausted. But he’d have faith in his friend. There was no way in hell he’d be left behind after everything they went through together. He looked at his bloodied hands. “I should do something about this, don’t you think?” But then again, why would anyone care? He found a bottle of water to clean the blood. The cut wasn't deep, he could leave it alone to heal overnight. Once his hands were clean, Gray lied down on the dusty old bed. He didn’t care about the grime on the walls or the general dirty state of the room. Somehow none of this mattered anymore. He was alone. The only things keeping him company were the cobwebs in the corners of the room and some scurrying insects. Despite everything, he let sleep take him. It wasn’t restful, he still heard the church bells ringing somewhere in the distance. Maybe he just imagined it.

It rained hard the next morning.


	2. Episode 2: Shat Out of Hell Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world always looks different if you've been through a lot together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Cowmanthemama for proofreading!

Episode 2: Shat Out of Hell Pt 2

Deacon woke up to the sound of rain hitting the wooden boards in front of the windows. Very few rays of natural light snuck in through the gaps. He forced himself to get off the sofa and immediately he felt regret. Why didn’t he stop Gray from leaving? Why had he to drink this fucking much? He could only hope that his friend was safe and not somewhere in a ditch.

He felt something boiling in the pit of his stomach. “Great, he was my fucking responsibility-”

“Who was your responsibility?”

Deacon felt relief once he heard that familiar voice. Gray didn’t look well, he seemed a bit dishevelled and very exhausted.

Both cleared their throats unsure how to break the ice.

“So-” Deacon picked up an empty glass to keep his hands busy, “did you sleep well?”

One glare was answer enough.

“Do you want some breakfast?” He tried to offer in hopes that the prospect of food would lift the other’s mood, “I’m paying.”

Gray shook his head, “I’ll be honest I’m not hungry.” he said smiling and shrugged “I just want to sleep some more.”

He knew he shouldn’t leave Gray on his own this time. Deacon already felt like shit for drinking himself into a stupor when the other needed him. Also, he knew his friend was lying: Gray was ALWAYS hungry. “Hey, look. If you’re upset about last night, I’m sorry. This is difficult for me as well.”

Gray put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder and gave a weak smile, “it’s alright. Let’s get breakfast.” He seemed calm for now, but somehow the older man felt there was a storm brewing inside his friend.

The rain was still going when the two left the cottage to find a place that would sell some coffee at the very least. The sky was dressed up in a depressing coat of dark clouds. At least they had found an umbrella among their possessions. Deacon had offered Gray to get under it with him. Gray seemed happy enough walking in the rain with the hood of his jacket pulled up. Despite wearing shorts.

"What do you want to eat?" Deacon inquired, to which Gray shrugged.

"I told you I'm not hungry."

"You've gotta have something."

"Bread or something I guess."

He chuckled, "do you want something on your bread?"

"How about liquid bread?" Gray asked, kicking away a small rock on the road.

"That's just beer."

"I know."

Deacon glared at him, "you're not having beer for breakfast."

"Look who's talking." Gray glared back.

They both continued to walk in silence. Deacon occasionally looked over to Gray who seemed bitter about last night. He didn't blame him though, getting blackout drunk when you're needed was a horrible habit of his. He wanted to apologise, not just for that but for the fact that in a few days they'd most likely never see each other again. Fucking Vatican. Where would Gray even go then? That seemed like the kind of thing to discuss over some food. They settled for a near-empty but cosy looking café and picked the spot in the farthest corner. Away from prying eyes or eavesdroppers. The current clientele was one couple, an old man asleep over a cup of something and a plump middle-aged woman arguing with the waitress that her shaking chihuahua was a service animal, and should technically be allowed into the establishment.

Deacon ordered a black coffee without food. Gray ordered a hot chocolate with some chocolate scones. When their drinks arrived, Gray immediately opened five sugar sachets and poured their content into the chocolate.

"I’m asking you, from the bottom of my heart, what the hell is wrong with you?" Deacon asked, appalled.

"Well, sorry that I'm not a fan of bitter bean juice," Gray sneered, "bitter bean juice drinker!"

For a moment the tension was gone and everything seemed normal. Gray even offered Deacon some scones, which he rejected.

"I'm not a fan of cavities or diabetes."

"Well, I've been eating like this for years and I have neither of those things."

"Yet," Deacon mumbled and took a sip of his coffee. He would never be able to get behind his friend's ridiculous sweet tooth. Then again, you don't have to agree on everything. Gray stuffed the scones into his mouth like a greedy seven-year-old in a sweets shop. Deacon took this opportunity to explain the situation and what was going to happen.

"Can I talk to you?"

Gray looked up from his plate, "yeah, what is it?" He asked, his voice muffled by the scones in his mouth.

"It's about the Vatican. I called them."

"And-?" Gray gulped his food down.

Deacon sighed and put a hand on Gray's arm, "I'm sorry. They're gonna come over in a week after sorting some paperwork to get me."

Gray looked at Deacon's hand, "what about me?"

"You can't come. I don't know why."

"Oh."

Oh. That was all he had to say? He had expected a bit more, some outburst or protests or anything. This made him feel even worse now. "Do you have a place to stay?"

Gray didn't answer, "well, that sucks with the Vatican." He said instead as if he didn't want to acknowledge the question, "you know, it's lovely weather! I'm gonna go for a walk now. You said you were paying right?"

"Gray-" he was about to stand up.

"No, you stay here."

Deacon took a hold of Gray's wrist when he stood up, "listen, it wasn't up to me to decide that okay?"

"Let go," this was said coldly and emotionless. Gray's expression not betraying a single thought in his head. He had no other choice to let go it seemed. His friend stormed out of the Café, waking up the old man, startling the couple and making the small dog bark. Deacon would have almost laughed if this whole scene wasn't his god damn fault.

Gray stood in front of the church door. He didn't know what it was that had lured him here again or why this was the first place he thought of. He walked into the old place, the stench in the air almost welcoming now.

[So. You're back.]

"I know."

[Welcome my son.]

Gray sat on one of the benches and immediately felt a presence around him. It was almost warm and comforting, but he had to remind himself what kind of thing was behind it. "I don't know why I came back. I should hate you."

[I sense your anger. He disappointed you again.]

"It wasn't his fault, they decided for him." Once again he jumped to the other's defence.

[He could've fought more for you, but he gave up. He was probably too drunk to argue with them.]

"Probably," Gray muttered, looking over to the door, still open wide as if someone was waiting for him in the dark.

[I pity you, Gray. This man you trust keeps disappointing you.]

"He's just-" Gray paused trying to find the right thing to say "I don't know." This felt too familiar for his liking. Someone he thought he could trust hurt him and lied to him, he desperately tries to find excuses.

[How about a trade? Bring me Deacon and you will never have to worry again.]

"No!" Gray immediately exclaimed, "I could never do something like that!" He took off his glasses and rubbed his face. For a while, he looked into the blurred nothingness, before putting them back on. "Why am I even talking to you? You're some weird... worm monster!"

[You insult me, Gray.]

"You damn near killed us both."

[And whose fault was it? Who brought you down to me?]

"That's beside the point!" He yelled back, but deep down he knew.

[It was Deacon.]

The creature was right, it was Deacon's fault. All this was Deacon's fault. If he had done what Mark said, he would've been safe somewhere else. Not somewhere to call home, but at least far away from here.

[I'll give you some time to think about it, my son. You go back to him for now.]

Gray nodded.

[I'm always waiting here for you.]

He exited the building, feeling something icy slip down his spine. Did he have it in him to sacrifice Deacon to the creature? He cursed at himself for giving that thought even one second of consideration. Deacon was his friend despite everything. Even if he was going to abandon him to an unknown fate and fuck off to Italy. Gray was definitely not bitter about this, not one fucking bit. He knocked over an old gravestone in a non-bitter and non-petty way, to let out his nonexistent frustration and anger towards his not best friend. As Gray walked on, his hands were balled to fists and he definitely didn't feel like throwing up. It would be easy, wouldn't it? Knock him out, drag him here in the dead of night, no one would notice, the bastard deserved it. the lying, drunk bastard-

_**YOU SAID IT WASN'T REAL** _

Gray leaned against a tree and vomited out his breakfast.

"Shit." He coughed and spat out anything left over in his mouth. He couldn't go back to Deacon now, could he? He walked down the hill, as if he was in a trance, and climbed over the fence. It was becoming obvious that he wasn't doing well right now, how annoying. Gray looked over to the car they had left behind. The door was unlocked, so he opened it and crawled into the sliced open backseat. 'This seems like a good idea. Yes. I'm going to stay here and won't have to deal with anything ever again,' he thought, lying face down on it. It smelled rotten and rusted in here and the belt buckles were digging into his side. 'Yep, this is comfortable. This is great.'

He was not having a breakdown.

Deacon found himself in a peculiar situation. On one hand, it had stopped raining. On the other hand, Gray had run off again. It dawned on him that he wasn't good at this whole friendship thing. Maybe Gray was better off without him. But he would sulk later, he had to find his friend first. Asking the locals wasn't an option since he wanted to avoid being noticed, worried they might recognise him. All he could do was keep his head low and his vision clear. He was briefly interrupted when he walked past a toy shop. What had caught his eye was a little harmonica in the window.

"Five quid aye?" Deacon mumbled to himself. Without hesitation entered the store and bought the instrument. It was cheaply made. The plastic was a garish yellow and green colour combination. It was meant as a toy, but he couldn't help but smile. Maybe despite everything, Gray would like this small gesture. It's the least he could do. After the small detour, the search continued and he wasn't anywhere to be found. Not even the cottage.

Did he go to the church?

No, why would he go back there of all places? But it was worth a shot. Deacon would need a fucking drink after that. He hurried up, fighting through the rain that was slowly picking up again. The wind was thrashing about, making it seem like it was raining from the side. It was getting cold too. With their luck, it was going to snow at some point and the cottage would turn into a house-sized freezer. Brilliant. But he'd worry about it once that moment arrived. For now, he braved the path until he was at the foot of the hill. Though luckily he wouldn't have to go inside because he found Gray.

In the car.

Facedown.

Fortunately, it looked like he was still breathing.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Deacon mumbled and knocked against the backseat window.

"Fuck off I'm busy," came the answer from within, muffled and annoyed.

"Busy with what? Sulking?" He asked and opened the car door. "C'mon scoot over."

Gray groaned and sat up, making some space for the other, "what do you want?"

"Nothing, I was worried about you. It's the second time you stormed off like that and I can't have you keep doing that."

Gray rolled his eyes, "pack it in will ya? You're not my bloody nanny. I can take care of myself."

"By lying in a car."

"Yeah. That's fucking self-care, innit?"

"No, it's not."

Gray crossed his arms, sinking deeper into his 'sulking child' charade. "Don't act as if you've never slept in a car before."

Deacon nodded politely.

"It can be comfortable if you know what you're doing."

"I believe you. But you're not here to nap, are you?"

There it was. Gray's facade was broken down. For a second something different flickered across his expression. Something like fear. Or guilt. "No," and then he added quietly, just about audibly, "not initially." They both let silence set in. Well, it wasn't complete silence. They heard the wind brushing through the treetops and shaking them. The sound of heavy rain hitting the roof and windows of the car. He wanted to dig deeper, but Deacon didn't. He could tell by Gray's expression of exhaustion that he wasn't in the mood to play therapist with him. Gray leaned his head against Deacon's shoulder and it felt strangely apologetic. Was he apologising for storming out, or saying sorry for things he hadn't done yet? He didn't know. But he reciprocated this strange gesture of affection by putting an arm around him. He had to think about the morning he carried the younger man through the forest. Oh, how peaceful he was, sleeping in his arms.

Deacon finally broke the silence, "think the car works?"

"After all this time? Nah, dude, the battery's fucked and the petrol's gotta be replaced."

"Alright, you know your stuff?"

Gray suddenly lit up with a jolt of happiness. "Well, not to boast but I've done some repairs on my car, completely on my own! I know the ins and out!"

He never took Gray for someone talented in mechanics. Everyone had their hidden depths. "Right. We've got some time to kill. Let's try and get this hunk of junk going again."

"Hell yeah!"

Deacon, taken by Gray's sudden enthusiasm grinned as well. "We should get our hands on everything we need fairly easily," he said.

"Right. We're gonna need some tools, a new car battery and Wotsits." Gray walked ahead of Deacon.

Deacon caught up, "what do we need the wotsits for?"

"I just want some. You never know when you might need something savoury."

"Aye, I can get behind that."

Despite how small the village was, the duo had found an auto repair shop fairly quickly. All it took was getting lost every other turn and deciding to follow the smell of petrol and oil that suddenly hung in the air. They both chipped in for a car battery, a jerry can of petrol and a basic toolbox for the road. Along the useful things were some snacks and beer to keep the morale high. Gray seemed giddy, like a child in the candy store, a far cry from how Deacon found him.

"Can't wait to get the car fixed up! Any idea where we should go?" Gray nearly dropped the toolbox a few times, as he was skipping. Deacon couldn't get himself to remind the other that their time together was fleeting and ruin his good mood, so he shrugged.

"So long as it's far away from here." Very far away. Deacon never wanted to set foot in this place again. Maybe he and Gray could-

Oh, wait.

Right.

He felt his stomach sink. But he wouldn't say anything. He would make the most of it. As soon as they arrived back at the car, Gray got to work. His demeanour changed to something of a stern professional mechanic.

"Okay, Deacon! You open up the bonnet," Gray commanded him as he looked through the toolbox for whatever it was he would need.

"Ah. Open up the bonnet-"

"Please."

Deacon did as he was told, peering into the car's innards as soon as the bonnet was open. It didn't look pretty or logical to him, then again he was never mechanically inclined. Gray moseyed up to him, taking his sweet time looking through everything, muttering something to himself from time to time, poking parts of the car with his index finger and muttering some more.

"Okay, I'm gonna have to drain the old petrol, oil change, fuck we should have bought oil, at least we got the car battery..." Gray continued to poke and prod the car's guts, "okay, Deacon, go buy some oil while I drain the petrol. Some Listerine too, just in case."

"You forgot something."

"Please!"

Deacon chuckled, "not that hard is it?" And off he went, on his little errands, once again demoted, but this time to errand boy and not a tripod. A step up all things considered. Though the Listerine part confused him a little bit. After everything has been bought, he sighed. As happy as Gray was, he understood that one reminder of the inevitable could ruin the mood. He wanted to have fun, but the threat of goodbye loomed over him at every moment. If anything, he should try to detach himself from the other and not become even more attached. Why was this so difficult? Walking back was done in quiet contemplation. How could he interact with him, but still carefully sever the bond?

"You've brought the Listerine?" Gray asked, his breath stank of ethanol.

"Yeah?"

"Give it," he sounded urgent enough for Deacon not to remind him of the magic word, "I fucking hate draining petrol."

Deacon noticed a black hose sticking out of the bonnet, but he wouldn't question it. Gray knew what he was doing. Probably. Hopefully. He continued to watch Gray muttering about, lending a hand or a tool or some crisps when it was needed. There were some moments of confusion when Gray asked him for 'that thingy in the toolbox' and not specifying what the thingy was for example. But all in all, things were going smoothly, Gray even showing him how some of the machinery worked and was put together. It was approaching evening when they finally finished and both looked at the car with pride.

"We did it," Gray said grinning and holding out his hand to his friend, "now. Deacon, hand me the keys!"

He glared.

"Please."

They were soon sitting in the car again, this time at the front. This was the moment of truth. They both stared at the dashboard in anticipation, hoping it would run again. After two failed attempts, it gave a pleasing purring sound.

"Like a charm," Deacon concluded and leaned back happily, "we should celebrate."

"Yeah, but with what? We spent most of the money we have on repairing this car."

"We still have some beer and crisps."

"We do."

Gray turned on the car radio. Nothing worthwhile was playing on any of the stations, but it was music they could use to celebrate. Deacon had cracked open the beer cans. It was a sorry excuse for a party, but they were here together at least.

"Did you ever own a car?" Gray asked.

"Yeah. Once."

"What happened?"

Deacon took a sip from his beer, feeling relaxation finally setting in, "totalled it. Drunk driving."

"Drunk driving. Why am I not surprised?" His response was probably meant as a joke, but he felt there was something else in it, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Well. You do stupid things when you're drunk. I've done my share of stupid things while drunk." And this came out like an apology.

"I know what you mean mate."

"I'm sorry about last night," Deacon finally apologised, "suppose getting sloshed right away was a shite idea."

"You don't fucking say," Gray laughed though, "I mean, to be honest, I was being a tit."

Deacon laughed as well. Once again everything stopped being tense now that they were side by side drinking and relaxing. Gray looked up to the church and then back at Deacon. He seemed to be thinking about something.

"Imagine if we could burn all this to the ground mate," Gray suddenly said with a blank face, "we've got petrol. I could drive up the hill, crash into the church. Blow it up with the car. Picture it."

Deacon didn't say anything, he kept drinking his beer.

"Massive explosion. That thing's guts flying up in the air like a gorey firework."

"What about you? Would you get out of the car?"

Gray didn't respond. He kept staring at the church and then lowered his gaze to the steering wheel.

"Hey, wow. If you're gonna commit suicide, let me get out of the car first," he tried to make it sound like a joke, but there was worry as well. He held Gray's shoulder, to remind him that he was still here. "Let's drive back to the cottage before you get any stupid ideas."

"Yeah, let's do that."

The drive back was awkward and quiet.

"What a day," Gray spoke up once they had arrived, "I'm exhausted!" He was smiling again and Deacon didn't know why. He was happy that his mood seemed to have changed for the better, even if it was out of nowhere. The only thing that dampened everything was that, like predicted, the cottage was still a house-sized fridge thanks to the lack of heating. Of course, complaining about this was kind of dumb, they had to find a way around it. The solution to the dark was candles that were stored in the kitchen, so at least they had lights. They sat around the candles, this time Deacon took over the armchair and Gray was sprawled out on the couch.

"We should weigh out our options," Deacon sighed. What were their options? They could either find all the blankets this place had to offer-

"There's still the master bedroom," The younger man noted, stretching a bit.

Deacon raised an eyebrow, "are you suggesting we share a bed?"

"I'm not suggesting anything mate. I'm saying there is a master bedroom and it's got one bed and we're two human beings that generate body heat," Gray continued.

"I'm not sharing a bed with you," Deacon finally said, "you're a great guy and all, but I'm not someone who does that. Besides, I snore."

"I snore too. I snore probably louder than you."

No, no, no, that is the opposite of what Deacon was trying to do. He wanted to detach himself from the other, not become somehow too intimate with him. He wanted to be able to let go of him. On the other hand, he looked so helpless. Maybe Deacon would try the Vatican again. He wasn't above begging when he was forced to.

"Okay. Fine."

Gray smiled, "Right, I'm off to bed in that case."

He waited for a few minutes, at least until he was sure Gray was gone and got his mobile out. Deacon stared at the screen for a bit, mentally rehearsing what he would say to them. Yes, he'd tell them that he refused to come back without Gray. He'd stick it to them this time! No way in hell would he abandon his friend.

He dialled the number.

Deacon and a nameless person on the other line shared their usual pleasantries; sorry that I called in so late - it's okay. Things like that. This is it, the moment of truth, the moment where he had to address it.

This time he spoke in Italian, to make sure Gray wouldn't hear it. "Listen, about the tech-specialist, it's important that he's picked up as well."

and the other person answered, 'oh, we're so sorry, but we're not responsible for Mr Parker- etc. etc. etc.'. another fancy and long way to say 'No,' once again. This time Deacon wouldn't give up though.

"I thought the church was about helping those in need!" He announced angrily, "why does it matter if you're responsible for him or not? Gray's my friend! All this fucked him up!"

They remained level headed, 'we're sorry, please remain calm. Your attachment to Mr Parker clouded your judgement etc. etc.'

"Of course, I'm attached to him! We've been through hell and back together!" Literally. Deacon finally paused, taking a deep breath. Shit, he didn't mean to get this angry at these people. "You know what? Here's the deal. You either pick up both of us or none of us." and he hung up, feeling like a massive knobhead. Way to go, Deacon, way to antagonise the people you work for Deacon. He blew out the remaining candles and went to the master bedroom. Gray was already in the bed, curled up and fast asleep. Surprising considering the shouting match he had. Might as well take that opportunity to have a glass of something boozy before sleeping. Once his craving for alcohol had calmed down, he went to bed as well, falling asleep and hoping he'd gotten through to these people.

Gray was awake. Feigning sleep had always been something he was good at. Just lie down, close your eyes, breathe slowly and everyone will think you're asleep. He looked at Deacon's sleeping form next to him. He did snore, excessively loud in fact. He also stank of wine. He had heard him argue with someone in Italian. The only thing Gray had understood were the mentions of his name. Bugger this. Gray snuck out of bed and got dressed. Time for another visit. Grab the car keys, make it quick. He could already imagine what he had talked about. It couldn't have been good; he was stuck in this village. Fuck.

Gray started the car and drove off. Deacon would probably wake up because of the noise, but he didn't give a shit. The bastard was probably too drunk to notice. He drove fast, the streetlights flying past him in an incoherent blur. He had to think about Deacon. How he told him about fucking pressing and depressing some fucking button as if he cared about him. If he was lucky, he’d crash the car, end up in a coma and never have to think about any of this shit again. He could feel the temperature in the car drop but himself feeling heated, too many emotions boiling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to be mad at Deacon. He wasn’t to blame for any of this. But that feeling in the back of his head, that little voice that seemed to get more insistent on getting revenge made it hard for him to accept this outcome. He arrived at his destination, the church. It suddenly seemed inviting to him.

[Welcome, my Son.]

The voice greeted him immediately after he entered. Gray looked up at the ceiling even if there was nothing there.

“You were right,” he said, his gaze wandering from the ceiling to the open door that leads to the spiral staircase.

[My offer still stands.]

Gray walked to the door, the little bits of glass making crunching noises with each step he took. He pressed his hand against the wall of the staircase, he expected it to be cold, but it was warm and slick. He could have sworn it moved and pulsated like a living thing. Warm and damp air went past him the closer he came to the bottom until he finally reached the end. He stared into the dark tunnel; the open mouth was there somewhere.

He sat down on the dirty floor and felt the void calling to him. Crawl in. Finish it all. Make it easier on everyone. But he didn’t move from his spot, something was anchoring him to this world right now. He sat in the dark for quite some time. Maybe for a minute or a few hours. What the hell should he do? He felt like someone was holding him, caressing his hair.

[You know what you have to do, don’t you?]

Gray smiled and nodded. Suddenly everything made sense to him.

When Deacon woke up he was alone. “Fuck-“ he muttered, “fuck, not again.” Deacon clambered out of bed, dazed, his mind still foggy from last night. He stumbled through the hallway to the living room and found Gray sitting on the sofa. Folding their clothes?

“Morning!” Gray announced cheerfully, smiling even.

“Er, yeah. Morning.” Deacon sat down beside him, not sure what was going on, “what are you doing?” He asked, but the younger man smiled still.

“Oh, I was doing some late soul searching last night,” he explained, “so I figured, you know, this might be the last time we will ever see each other. I might as well put some stuff in order. Folding clothes, all that.” Gray paused, “I brought you breakfast,” he said, pointing toward the kitchen.

Deacon needed a moment to let this all sink in, “I’m glad you’re doing better now but-“

“No but. Take your breakfast.”

Deacon complied. First, he grabbed some of the clothes to get dressed, then headed to the kitchen. On the table was a takeaway cup of black coffee and a croissant. Something about this cheerfulness didn’t sit well with Deacon, though. It was too sudden and unwarranted. Or maybe fixing the car had still left a positive effect on him. Whatever it was, he had his suspicions. For now, he’d eat though, take care of that first, do the rest later. Everything seemed okay, except the coffee turned out to be too sweet for his liking.

He went back to the living room, but Gray wasn’t there anymore, the clothes were all neatly folded on the table. It still felt weird, something hung in the air. “Gray?” Deacon called out concerned.

“Deacon.”

Deacon turned around and saw Gray standing there, with his hands behind his back.

“Gray.” He looked at the younger man, trying to figure out what he was holding in his hands, but the other kept smiling. Deacon could feel his heart speed up, something in his mind told him to run away right now.

“Listen. I told you about my soul searching,” Gray stepped closer, “I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Deacon questioned him.

Gray looked at the ground, “Yeah. I drugged you.”

He was lost for words. It suddenly made sense why his coffee tasted off though. “Why?”

“Because there’s something I have to do and I don’t need you interfering!” Gray revealed what he was holding behind his back; a big kitchen knife, “go to the armchair and sit down.”

Deacon did his best to keep his composure, “okay, listen, whatever it is you’re planning, you don’t have to do this!”

“SIT DOWN!” Gray yelled out, shaking, “please sit down! Don’t make this more difficult.”

He sat down, Gray still stood, knife trained on him.

“Are you going to kill me?” Deacon asked.

Gray didn’t answer.

“Is it because of the Vatican?”

No reply.

“I told you, it’s outside my control, there’s nothing-“

Gray spoke up at last, “stop talking.”

Both of them stared at each other. After a while Deacon felt drowsy. He looked over to Gray, who seemed close to crying. His heart sank. Why would he do something like this, despite everything they had gone through? He wanted to say one more thing. Deacon closed his eyes. They remained shut for quite a while.

When Deacon came to consciousness again, he felt dizzy and disoriented, still trying to piece together where he was.

He was still in the cottage, but Gray was gone. The clothes had been put into the suitcases and on top of them was a letter. This couldn’t be what Deacon thought it was, right? He grabbed the paper and read what it says,

‘I’m sorry about scaring you like this, but I knew if you were awake, you’d try to stop me. I figured out what to do and I want you to know that I enjoyed our time together despite everything. You’re the only one who ever cared about me and I cared a lot about you. But this is the only way to stop this thing.

Promise me that you’ll forget me and continue living your life.

Gray’

Shit. SHIT! Okay, deep breaths. Deacon opened the front door. It was already dark outside. How long had he been asleep for? For all he knew, Gray was already gone. Or worse. No, he couldn’t allow himself to think like that. Maybe there was still time to set things right. But where would Gray have gone to, anyway?

Wherever he was, the car was with him.

The church. Of course.

Deacon grabbed a flashlight and started running, hoping that it wouldn’t be too late.

When he arrived, he could immediately smell the stench of gasoline that hung in the air. Deacon saw the gate had been run over. He ran up the hill, passed the car and burst into the church, crying out for Gray.

It was dark and empty. Deacon turned on the flashlight-

With its light, he saw piles of twigs and newspaper scattered on the ground. Everything was covered in gasoline. The table was broken apart and surrounding a box of fireworks. Of course. Blow this whole thing up, turn it into a firework of gore.

“Gray!” Deacon continued to cry out as he walked down the stairs, “where are you?!”

He followed the trail of gasoline on the ground, the smell making him lightheaded. Then he saw him.

“Gray, thank God!” He exclaimed with relief.

Gray turned around, holding a box of matches. “Why are you here?” He asked with a demanding tone of voice.

“I came to get you,” Deacon explained, trying to get closer, but Gray stepped back.

“Stay there. Stay there or I’ll set us both on fire, right here,” he threatened, “I didn’t want you here! Why couldn’t you have stayed in the fucking cottage?!”

“And what? Let you kill yourself?!”

“Yes!” Gray shouted, nearly breaking down in tears, “this is the only way we can solve this- this crap!"

He tried again, “what about your family Gray? Your friends loved ones-“

The other let out a sardonic laugh, “don’t you get it Deacon?"

"Listen-"

Gray interrupted, "no! You listen to me!" He sounded choked up, tear stains on his face were sparkling in the shine of the flashlight. "I have NO ONE! Before I stayed in the cottage, I lived in my fucking car!” Gray paused to wipe his face with his sleeve. “You at least have the people at the Vatican. You have at least the chance to live a normal life. I figured if I’d end it all here and you go back to them, that you can get help.”

“Okay,” he paused to assess the situation. Deacon took a step closer. Gray didn’t move. “I know how you feel. You feel scared, hopeless, like this is the only way out.”

“How would you know?” Gray asked, then drew attention back to the matches, “hey, I told you to stay back!”

Deacon stood still again, “remember when I told you that I lost my driver’s licence because I totalled my car?”

“Drunk driving, yeah,” he nodded.

Deacon sighed, “the part I didn’t tell you was why it happened or when. It was after Belem. I couldn’t live with myself anymore,” he paused, “I got drunk. Got into my car and crashed it into a wall.”

Gray lowered his arms a bit.

“It was Mark who found me. He went looking for me and called the ambulance. I was comatose for a week.” He took his chances and went closer again “You said you had no one. But that’s not true, Gray. You have me.”

He looked down, “but the Vatican-“

“I told them that they either get both of us or none of us. They can replace me, Gray." Deacon smiled softly at him, "but I can’t replace you.”

Gray dropped the matches and Deacon embraced the younger man, feeling him shaking and hearing him sob. Their hold on each other tightened as if they worried they’d slip away from each other.

“I’m sorry- I don’t know what I was thinking, I thought-”

Deacon shushed him, “I’ve been there before. When you’re in this state, the only thing you can think about is an escape,” he continued to hold him. After what felt like hours, the two men let go of each other.

“Deacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

They left together, making their way out of the church into the night, the sky speckled with stars. Deacon looked back at the church, “would be a shame if we let all your work go to waste.”

“It would.”

Deacon took one of the matches, lit it up and threw it on the small patch of gasoline in the entrance where it promptly caught fire. The fire spread to the church’s inside and it seemed like the building was groaning in agony. Soon the sound of exploding fireworks filled the air. The building went from groaning to screeching, the air filled with the smell of burning meat.

“Are you alright?” Gray asked.

“Yes, I am. Why?”

“You’re crying,” Gray smiled weakly.

Deacon smiled a bit as well, “I guess I am.”

They looked back at the building that had become a blazing inferno by now, the flames reaching up to the skies. Deacon could feel Gray holding his hand, he signalled with a squeeze that he was still here with him.

They didn’t stick around for long after that. They had returned to the cottage to grab their clothes and some of the old equipment, mobiles, laptop, all that stuff and headed out of town under cover of the dark until they were outside, the excitement of their crime still in their bones.

“Mate,” Gray announced with a wide grin on his face, “we burned down a sodding church! What does the bible say about arson?”

Deacon thought about it for a bit, “actually, I don’t remember anything.”

“Wasn’t there a commandment for that? Like… Thou shall not burn things.”

“I’m pretty sure arson isn’t a sin,” he explained but then paused, “dunno about burning down a church though. That might be a sin.”

Gray let out a loud laugh, “is there like a sin scale?”

“Let’s see on a scale from mortal sin to odd but not a sin… Burning down a house of God is probably worse than burning down a regular house,” Deacon concluded.

“But wait. We burned it down because it was corrupted by a pagan creature thing.”

“Yes, that’s true. But. We did it out of wrath.”

“Okay, screw schematics, we burned down a church and I think that’s bloody cool.”

Deacon chuckled and suddenly remembered something, “hey, I got you a little something.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and gave Gray the toy harmonica. “It was meant to be a parting gift, but seeing how we’re gonna be together-“

Gray blew a tune into it, “it sounds crap.” He played another tune, “I love it!”

“I’m glad you do.”

“I never apologised to you about drugging you.”

He rolled his eyes, “don’t do it again, alright?”

“I promise. But what if you’re possessed by the devil or something?” Gray asked sheepishly.

“Fine, if I’m possessed by the devil, you can drug me. I don’t know how that’s going to help, but- “

“Okay, just let me know if you’re possessed.”

The two looked forward onto the open road.

“So, Deacon, where to?” Gray smiled.

Deacon smiled back, “wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

And on they drove, somewhere into the next big adventure.

She arrived in the morning, feeling annoyed and exhausted. Her first destination was the church, or at least what was left of it. The air smelled like burned flesh. Fuck’s sake. She got out her mobile and dialled a number, “hello, it’s me, Annie. I’m at borderland four. Or, well, it used to be that.”

She looked through a window into the hollow husk that used to be the church.

“It’s shut. The air’s cleared up. I don’t know how, but this place burned down completely.”

Annie continued surveying the damage done, “I don’t think it was an accident though,” she explained as she knelt down and looked at the tire tracks on the ground, “just a feeling. No, I don’t think they’ll find the other borderlands. Not even we found them yet.”

Annie paused and smiled.

“I’ll still take care of them. We don’t want to risk anything. You can count on me.” She hung up, pushing the big sunglasses up a little. With borderland four shut tight, there was no point sticking around. She decided to head into town and find a bite to eat.

Back into the car, drive to town, she put her brain into autopilot.

Before Annie knew it, she was sitting in a café with an espresso. It was nice being back here, Annie couldn’t remember the last time she had visited. Busy, busy her. The people in the place eyed her with apprehension, mostly the older people. The younger ones were either ignoring her or ogling her. Some things never changed.

She took off her big sunglasses, blinked twice and watched with glee as everyone in the café became more nervous, then fell quiet. They all knew what the symbol tattooed on her left eyelid meant: The symbol within the church.

His mark.


End file.
